In the middle of 2025, I decided to take a step back from the grind of playing the latest releases and carve out time for something I’d wanted to get around to for years: Earthbound. I had just gotten my Switch 2 and—knowing I would enjoy a lengthy honeymoon phase in which my brand new console would be all I’d want to play—decided to boot up the legendary SNES role-playing game thanks to Nintendo Switch Online. And I’m so glad I did, because playing Earthbound for the first time was one of the most joyful experiences of 2025! There are likely dozens more surprises like it waiting for me in my constantly growing backlog.
Unlike a lot of other folks, I’m really content with the restless state of my backlog. I relish the fact, for example, that I will never entirely conquer it. How, for every two games I triumphantly finish, three more will appear in the blink of an eye. Like a boss battle or random encounter that you’re meant to lose, I eventually gave up on the notion of quashing my backlog, and I think I’m much happier as a result.
Games are wonderful things. Unlike many other mediums, they drop you into the world and perspective of their characters. They are these utterly dazzling and transportive experiences, and can range from space operas to melancholic westerns and everything in between. I can be a squid-kid and compete in the equivalent of professional paintballing or venture through the harrowing nightmares of a gothic town descended into madness. And if all else fails, I can be some plumber who has somehow found the bandwidth to do it all and then some.
I love how varied and surprising exploring these virtual worlds can be. I love booting a game up and disappearing into it. I love the way I get to embody a character in games, especially in the ones that let me sculpt my own. Why would I rush that? Why should any of us try to zoom to the end of these experiences? Shouldn’t we collectively stop and take in the vistas and skyboxes of these immaculately constructed fictions? Plumb every last cave and jump behind every proverbial (or literal) waterfall in search of treasure and adventure? I want to make the most of my time with video games, not min-max it.
My backlog is lined with games that hold these promises and so much more. I mentioned space operas because–and this always shocks folks–I’ve never played the entire Mass Effect trilogy. I missed the first game on account of its exclusivity back in the day, and only hopped onboard the bandwagon with the second entry. One day, I hope to experience the first title, and I’m sure that’ll send me down a path that’ll see me revisit the entirety of the trilogy. I cannot wait to embark on that tremendous adventure with fresh eyes and a new appreciation for the entirety of that cast’s arcs. I’m also in no rush to see that day.
Likewise, I’ve yet to finish Baldur’s Gate 3, and I’m in no rush to see it to its end, either. I’ve never played Demon’s Souls or the latter two Dark Souls games to completion. Early Final Fantasy games and basically any RPG that launched before the year 1997 are a blind spot for me. Foundational titles of PC gaming, like the Half-Life series and Myst, still elude me, and I never really “got” The Sims despite all the hype around it.
I hope to get around to these games and so many more. I’ve also got a lifetime to get to ’em. Why spoil the fun by imposing challenges on myself to see as much of them as quickly or efficiently as possible? Why spoil the magic rather than live comfortably alongside it for as long as I can? What is the actual material harm of letting a backlog grow? As far as I can tell, none. On the flip side though, voraciously consuming any and every game that has ever made some kind of impression on me just sounds miserable. It minimizes what can otherwise be life-affirming, or even life-changing, experiences with art. It also just spoils the potential fun of a lifetime of games.
So take this as a PSA, if you must. Slow down. Savor your video game backlog. Preserve its magic for as long as you can. Oh, and play Earthbound, if you haven’t. You’ll thank me later.
About the Author
